


Tsuki

by SummonerYuki



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, M/M, relationship building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-23 22:12:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7481877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SummonerYuki/pseuds/SummonerYuki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You thought of him as the moon; pure, celestial, and high above the rest. You knew you loved him.</p><p>A short, fluffy follow-up to "Taiyou," this time from McCree's eyes. Once again, no smut, but a few more implications than Hanzo's story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tsuki

The way he carried himself was like the moon, you thought. Beautiful, and high above the rest, but so very, very lonely. You couldn’t remember when you'd gotten it in your mind to change that, but when you did, your thoughts were full of nothing but _him._

He was an odd little fellow, for sure. He kept to himself a lot, and though you found that he didn’t say much, somehow you understood what he meant fairly easily. He was the lone-warrior type, but he always seemed to be orbiting your social circle, as if desperately trying to find an opening to slide in through. You tried to make it as easy as possible without patronizing him. It seemed to work, because after a while, words tumbled from his foreign lips a little easier. Or, at least, they did when the two of you were alone.

You weren’t sure what to think about that at first. You were used to loud laughter and gaudy jokes and roaring conversations, all of which seemed to scare the dickens out of the archer. You had to wonder what this guy did for fun in his free time; probably just shoot arrows and read classics and drink tea, you figured. Maybe like, calligraphy or something even. All stuff that would have bored you normally, but you became so curious to find out if your suspicions were true that you felt you practically had no choice but to figure it out yourself. At first it had been purely curiosity, and you felt bad for acting like he was such a rarity—like a character rather than a person—but those feelings quickly passed as your thoughts turned from curiosity to sincere interest. You found the deviations from his alleged character intriguing rather than disappointing, and with every different faucet of himself that he revealed to you, you found yourself showing up at his door more and more often.

While you’d been right about the arrows and the classics (his favorite was Sun Tzu’s _Art of War)_ and the tea, you learned quickly that he _deplored_ calligraphy. It’d been his least-favorite subject when he was a child, he’d told you once with a fire burning in his calm eyes, so much so that even the word set him off at times. You’d laughed out loud at that. The former samurai, so poised and graceful, becoming irritated at a childhood annoyance was pretty close to adorable. Your least-favorite chore was sewing, you’d shared, and his mouth had screwed up but his honor refused to let him laugh. You’d laughed for him instead.

For that, you began to love him.

It’d hit you long before your fate was in the tip of his bow. You found yourself watching him more than you thought was normal. At first you’d struggled with it a bit—how could a ragtag ex-mercenary possibly even _dream_ of standing next to someone as divine as the honorable archer—but you found yourself falling so fast and so hard that your doubts turned to wishes. You sought him out like a lovestruck schoolgirl, trying to stay cool as you _accidentally_ found him on the archer’s range or _happened_ to run across some of his favorite tea at the market (because you definitely were there for something else and not for a valid excuse to visit him). You thought it was out of character for you to be chasing this man around like a puppy but you couldn’t help yourself. Something about him was so unique, so mystifying, that you couldn’t just let it go. You were pursuing him, you realized, and something about that made your insides go into knots and your cheeks flush and your hands shake.

Ah, you were probably in love, you thought.

The day you next spent together was on top of a payload in the middle of a blizzard. You were bundled in warm furs and a poncho as white as the snow around you, and he was wrapped in a wolf he’d hunted and trapped himself. You wanted to talk to him, to lay down one of the cheesy lines about staying warm together that you’d been debating on all day, but you could barely hear your own thoughts over the sounds of the howling winds. When it came time to defend the package—as you all knew you’d have to—you figured maybe it’d give you some time to re-grow your balls and flirt with him after the mission.

Battles were exhilarating to you and always had been. The danger of not knowing what you were walking into, the excitement of the kill, and the satisfaction of doing a job well-done were all things that helped you sleep at night. So even with wayward emotions on your head, you still found solace in jumping back and forth and rolling around in the snow. Though others made fun of you for it often, you didn’t even notice your screaming and whooping—it was just sort of something that _happened_ when you were having this much fun. You were in control and you knew it, and you just wanted to make sure everyone else knew as well. And besides, sometimes howling into someone’s ear and watching their shocked expression the moment before you pulled the trigger was just _too damn funny._

You were lost in the flurry of adrenaline and aerobics when you heard it: _CRACK._ A singular gunshot reverberated and dulled against the snow-covered mountainsides, and the only thought you’d had at the sound was _some poor bastard went and got himself done in._

That’s when you’d heard him over the roar of the wind.

_“Ryuu ga waga teki wo kurau!”_

Everyone on the mountain, ally and enemy alike, had paused to watch the great azure dragons cut across the sky. You’d glanced up at him with a wide grin on your face, but upon seeing the look of disaster he had on his, you’d looked down at your chest.

_Ah. I was the poor bastard._

The blood pouring from the hole in your heart looked like a flower, you thought, before you blacked out.

You didn’t remember much after you woke up in an Overwatch hospital, but the scores of friends that came to visit you had made sure you did. _It was great,_ they’d all told you in a rush to speak first, _that Japanese guy, you know? The archer? He saved you, took that sniper right off the cliff before she shot you dead!_

Indeed, Dr. Ziegler—Maid Mercy, as you called her—had confirmed that a few inches lower and the bullet would have punctured right through your aorta. The archer’s attack was enough to throw her off her mark, though barely. You were lucky to be alive. _Seems as though you have a guardian angel,_ the doctor had told him with a warm smile on her face.

Oh, you knew.

It had been too much for you to bear when he’d come shuffling timidly into your hospital room, a bottle of your favorite whiskey hidden in his sleeve, and while you’d intended to just colloquially let your feelings be known he’d started tearing up and you just _had_ to kiss him. You’d felt bad about it at first—your mama had taught you better than to just go around kissing people without permission—but _golly_ when he kissed you back you thought for sure you’d died.

The moment you’d gotten out of the hospital you’d grabbed a handful of sunflowers from the market downtown and banged on his door, because dammit if you weren’t going to ask him out proper. The second kiss was almost even better than the first.

Ah, yes, you were _definitely_ in love.

The sun seemed to shine a little brighter, the birds seemed to sing a little higher, and every laugh that came from his mouth made your soul just a little lighter. He quickly became your world, your _everything._ From the moment you woke up in the morning to the moment you went to sleep, he was on your mind. Nothing seemed to satisfy you; you wanted more from him, always so much more. At first it was more kisses, then more words. You wanted to know his likes, his dislikes, his favorite colors, his favorite flavors, what he dreamt about, what he saw, what he wanted, what he _desired._ You liked asking questions in ways that made him laugh, because every time you could make that stiff mouth crack a smile you were sure you were experiencing true, unadulterated bliss.

Over the days—the weeks, the months, the _years—_ you learned about him, about his family. You learned that the latter of those subjects was touchy at best; most of the time if his past was even _hinted_ at during a conversation he’d either change the subject or seal up like a clam. The only person he seemed reasonably alright with speaking about was his brother, who was a cyborg on the base. He didn’t speak in detail of how his brother had become that way, but you reckoned it had something to do with those dragons of his. You never really pushed it even if your curiosity grew morbid, because you couldn’t stand the sadness in his eyes whenever he spoke of it. Every once in a while you encouraged him to speak to that cyborg brother of his, because when you could catch them talking, his laugh was softer, more gentle, maybe even a little more relaxed. It delighted you to think you could make him happy just by pushing him towards someone, even if that person wasn’t you. Besides, you loved how wholly satisfied and at peace he looked whenever he came back to you.

He was your angel, your savior. Years later, the night before you'd ask him to become yours forever, you'd have his name tattooed over your heart.

The first time you’d gotten into bed with him, you weren’t quite sure what to expect. You wondered if he’d ever even had sex before, and though the feeling made you nauseous, you kind of hoped he hadn’t. You didn’t know when you’d gotten so possessive of this proud man, but you wanted every part of him—every first and every last. You wanted to love him roughly when all you could do was treat him gently. He’d felt so exposed in your hands, so pure, that you felt the blood you could never quite wash from beneath your fingernails might soil him. You wanted to touch him, to feel every part of him, but you were afraid, _so_ afraid. He meant too much to you to ruin him. So when you hesitated after you’d both come so far, he saw it, and it hurt him. Unable to bear the heartbroken look on his face, you’d spilled your guts immediately.

You told him about the horrors you’d witnessed. You told him about the nightmares you’d caused. You told him about the wars you’d started in the name of justice, the men you’d killed for the sake of peace, and how you could never, _ever_ forgive yourself if you desecrated him too. He’d taken your face in the palms of his hands and raised your eyes to his.

 _“Saru mo ki kara ochiru,”_ he’d told you. “Even monkeys fall from trees.”

You’d actually begun laughing through the tears in your eyes, and while his eyebrows had knitted like he was irritated, he’d just rested his forehead against yours, strands of his ebony hair falling against your face.

“Nobody’s perfect,” he’d said softly, and while you’d only nodded, you were pretty sure the beautiful person before you was as close as someone could get.

From that day forth, you no longer worried about your blackened self and the ways you could stain him. You found that your chest no longer tightened when you thought about your past, if you could care to think of it at all. Lately only your future with him was on your mind.

And for that, you knew you loved him.

You thought of him as the moon; pure, celestial, and high above the rest. But while you thought yourself as his opposite sun, you understood that one could not exist without the other—and indeed, you could no longer survive without him.

He was your moon, and though it meant bathing yourself in darkness, you adored the way he shone.

**Author's Note:**

> Anime school time! "Tsuki" = "moon" :) Rougher writing than the first, which I hope suits Jesse's character better.


End file.
